


A Brief History of Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn

by Humansunshine



Series: Pre-Canon Magnus Bane [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, M/M, Transgender Author, chosen family, indepth trigger warnings, transgender Magnus Bane, warnings in notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 22:25:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14820053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Humansunshine/pseuds/Humansunshine
Summary: It had been a long journey for Magnus Bane, since that day that Asmodeus picked him up all those centuries ago. But every painful step of it had led him to Alexander Lightwood, and the position of High Warlock of Brooklyn. And there was nothing he’d change about that.





	A Brief History of Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by a lovely anon in the comments of another fic. Original prompt is long but here's the gist:  
> "whether you want to do like, a canonverse trans!magnus fic (how it applies in-universe, how being a warlock might help with like dysphoria and stuff, how it affected him as a child literally centuries ago, etc.) or an AU of some sort, i'm totally open to anything. hell, it doesn't even have to be malec, it can just be magnus-centric."
> 
> I'm sorry it took a billion years! I've been feeling very insecure about this fic but HEY IT'S PRIDE MONTH
> 
> Quick note: There are a few instances where Magnus’ ‘soul’ is looked at and it becomes clear to the person looking that he’s trans. Like I don’t ascribe to the ‘born in the wrong body’ thing, but obviously in the 1600s the characters don’t have the vocabulary or the knowledge that we have today. Later on in the story Magnus refers to himself as transgender but until that term was coined in the 20th century everyone’s sort of ????? about how to explain it, though everyone that Magnus interacts with in this fic is loving and supportive of him. I didn’t feel it was necessary to go indepth into the transphobia that Magnus no doubt suffered in this universe, because… We all know transphobia exists and how awful it is. This is mostly about Magnus finding a place for himself in the world.
> 
> Trigger warnings!
> 
> Passing mention of murder: References to the death of Magnus’ stepfather, and murders that Magnus and Asmodeus committed together.
> 
> Coercion/abuse: Asmodeus is an abusive father, do I even need to say this? He coerces Magnus into killing people in exchange for hormone treatment, and tells Magnus that no-one will ever love him. I skim very quickly over his relationship with Camille and you never see her speak.
> 
> Microaggressions: Someone asks Magnus if he’s really a woman. It’s not said with ill intent, but it is said. When Magnus first tells Alec that he’s trans, Alec’s eyes dart down his body before he thinks about it, but other than that, Alec is very careful to make sure Magnus knows it doesn’t affect his feelings for Magnus. Magnus also recounts the questions that cis people tend to ask him when they find out he's trans.
> 
> Grief: Magnus mourns the loss of George in unhealthy ways, becoming reckless and depressed.
> 
> Suicidal ideation: Magnus briefly mentions being unable to bear life anymore.
> 
> Mentions of transphobia: Magnus mentions being misgendered by people but we don’t see it actually happen.
> 
> Vague discussion of surgery: Magnus has surgery, and he mentions the pain and his difficulty in recovery, but ultimately he feels it’s worth it. None of this is depicted in great detail.

It didn’t occur to him that he wasn’t like other little boys. When his father, his real father, found him on the streets clad in filthy rags, he’d been too scared to tell Asmodeus what name his mother had given him. For all he knew, the tall stranger would drag him to the Dutch magistrate for the murder of his stepfather. So he told Asmodeus the first name that popped into his head. Magnus Bane.

It had appeared in his head, out of nowhere, and before he could second guess it, it spilled from his mouth. Magnus had been the name of one of the Dutch soldiers who’d served under his father, the one who’d always given Magnus a scritch on the scalp and a kind word. As for Bane? It was a word that his stepfather had spat at him, a word in English that Magnus hadn’t understood at the time, though he knew it wasn’t good. Perhaps it was his way of spiting his stepfather one last time. 

Either way, it had stuck. Asmodeus either didn’t know that he wasn’t like other boys, or he didn’t care. The two of them were too busy to discuss something as mundane as Magnus’ body; Asmodeus was trying to teach him how to control his magic. Magnus was content to follow his lead for a few years, honing his ability to injure and kill and inflict pain. None of it upset him as much as the death of his mother had, but he didn’t get the same kind of joy from it that Asmodeus seemed to, either. Magnus laughed along with his father when shadowhunters begged for death at the hands of his magic, but he could never quite grasp what exactly was funny about it. The whole thing was mostly a little embarrassing.

He kept quiet about that, and lots of other things, too. But things got a little sticky when Magnus hit thirteen and his body started to change. For the first time since Asmodeus had plucked him from the streets, Magnus wasn’t sure what he was. And Asmodeus had all the answers before, about his eyes and the fire that burst from his hands when he was angry, so perhaps he’d have the answers now. 

“Father,” Magnus started, jogging a little to keep up with Asmodeus’ long strides through a village in Peru, “father?” 

“Yes? What is it, little Prince?” Asmodeus asked, his amber eyes sweeping the marketplace. He was looking for a local mundane who’d tried summoning him. It was almost impossible for mundanes to force him into a pentagram, but he did take a lot of pleasure in paying them a nice little visit afterwards to scare them off any further dealings with demons. 

“Why don’t I look like other boys? Why don’t I look like you?” 

Asmodeus stopped in his tracks, and looked down at his son. “Is it bothering you?” 

“N-no…”

“Magnus, you know you must never lie to me.” Asmodeus growled, clenching his jaw.

Magnus swallowed hard, clutching at Asmodeus’ fingers with both of his hands. “Yes. But I can, I can forget it. Just please don’t send me away, father.” 

“Nonsense,” Asmodeus sniffed, delicately pulling his fingers free from Magnus’ grasp and patting him on the top of his head. “A miserable Prince is not a useful one. Now, let’s see…” He bent at the knee until his eyes were level with his son’s. Magnus couldn’t hold his gaze, his eyes flitting down to his feet, but Asmodeus tutted and grasped his chin. “Now, now, Magnus. Let me get a look at your soul. Look at me.”

“Yes, father.” Magnus whispered, scrunching his nose and forcing himself to look into Asmodeus’ eyes. Something about them scared Magnus, something dark and stirring, deep inside them. 

“Very interesting,” Asmodeus muttered, narrowing his eyes a little. “It appears that your soul is not quite… Hmm…”

Magnus wanted so very badly to look away. 

“Ah, yes. Good. There’s a very simple fix.” Asmodeus smiled, showing all his teeth, and Magnus dropped his eyes. “Your little human body is growing wrong. Incompetent form. Nothing I can’t fix, though, if you promise to be a good boy.” 

“I’ll be good!” Magnus swore, eyes wide and imploring. “Please, father, I’ll be good! I just want to look like you!” 

Asmodeus straightened up, dusting off his trousers. “Well, if you impress me dealing with this mundane, then I’ll think about it.” 

Magnus nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet impatiently as Asmodeus looked around for his next victim. Upon spotting her, Asmodeus took Magnus’ hand, and together they followed her up a dark alleyway towards her home.

Magnus Bane got his first dose of testosterone magicked into his bloodstream ten hours later, as he stood, exhausted and covered in sticky scarlet, over the bodies of the mundane and her family. He felt his father’s magic curl around his heart, pumping something new through his veins, and grunted, falling to his knees as his magic faded from his palms. 

“You’ve done well, my Prince,” Asmodeus purred, scritching the back of Magnus’ neck. “It seems you work well with incentives, hmm?” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Magnus stayed with Asmodeus for ten years. He couldn’t remember what exactly it was that made him realise that Asmodeus wasn’t a normal being. Of course, Magnus had never thought that his father was human, exactly. But there’d been a vague sense of ‘this is how everyone with these powers must be.’ All Magnus remembered from those months when he plotted against Asmodeus was lying awake, looking up at the burnt orange sky of Edom, wondering if his plan would work, and if he’d ever have the courage to carry it out.

Because he wouldn’t just lose his father. Magnus would lose whatever it was that Asmodeus had been giving him to make him grow taller, broader, bigger. He’d lose his beard, and the swells on his chest would get more noticable. By now, he’d figured out that his body was more similar to Lilith’s than Asmodeus’. He had no idea what it meant, but the idea of looking like Lilith turned his stomach. She was beautiful, of course, but that wasn’t what Magnus was supposed to look like.

On a normal night, exactly like the hundreds of others before it, Magnus snapped. He couldn’t take it anymore. There was nothing that sent him over the edge, not really. But all of a sudden it was like he was incapable of waiting another moment. He crept out of his bed and into Asmodeus’ room with a dagger that resembled his mothers’ exactly. He used it to slice his palm, dropping his own blood down over Asmodeus’ sleeping form and whispering the words that he’d furtively crafted himself after months of meditation, the words that would trap Asmodeus to Edom’s plains forever more. 

Asmodeus didn’t stir, not until Magnus used the last of his magic to conjure a portal to Earth. When he woke, sitting up slowly, Magnus was already halfway across the room, and for a moment father and son made eye contact.

“No-one there will ever love you, Magnus.” Asmodeus warned him, but Magnus had already come to terms with that. 

He stepped through the portal and never looked back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Magnus ran without stopping, always looking over his shoulder for amber magic and golden eyes, and it was only when he reached London four years later that he finally found a reason to settle.

“Now, don’t be foolish.” 

“Stay away from me!” Magnus warned, his hands held up in front of him. “I’ll kill you! I won’t think twice!” 

The warlock in front of him just sighed, his shoulders slumping. “My sweet child, you have no idea whose house you just broke into, do you?” 

“I don’t care!” He insisted, swallowing hard. All he’d wanted was a library, a place to do some research, to find out how he could get his true form back. In the years since he left Asmodeus, his body had betrayed him. He could cast glamours, but it wasn’t the same. He needed the spell that Asmodeus had used on him. 

“Listen to me. I know you’re young.” 

“You know nothing. I’ve seen more than you could possibly imagine. Lived through more.” Magnus spat, firing a warning shot at the bookshelf next to the other warlock as he moved towards his armchair. 

“I believe you. Listen. My name is Ragnor Fell. I’m the High Warlock of this city. I can help you. I know you’ve been sneaking in to read. Let me help you. You don’t have to hurt anyone.”

Magnus wrinkled his nose. “Why would you help me?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Ragnor countered, his eyes gentle. “I don’t want to hand you over to the shadowhunters, and I don’t want to hurt you, so put it away, hmm? Let’s settle this like gentlemen. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“I don’t look like other men.” Magnus faltered, his hands twitching, the amber magic fading from them.

Ragnor arched his eyebrow. “Yet your soul screams your true identity, louder than any soul I’ve ever met. Magnus Bane.” 

Magnus crumpled to the ground, unconscious, and Ragnor put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. Evidently, Magnus was too young to have even learned the basic, old magic of naming an unknown enemy. When Magnus woke up ten minutes later, he was tied expertly to a chair with rope, and when he struggled, his magic reaching out, the bonds didn’t budge. Immediately, Magnus screamed in rage, bouncing as much as he could.

“Now, now, let’s have none of that.” Ragnor scolded from behind him, and Magnus arched his neck to see him calmly making a cup of tea at the table. 

“You said you wanted to help me!” Magnus shouted, eyes blazing gold. 

“And I will. But first of all I’m afraid you’re going to have to get a hold of yourself. You just blasted an original edition of Clarissa, so I’m afraid I’m a little cross with you at the present moment.” 

Magnus opened and closed his mouth a few times, turning his face to the burned bookshelf. It was wrecked, totally blackened and charred. He huffed under his breath, and straightened his spine. He’d been on the delivering end of this situation all too often; he knew what was coming, and if this Ragnor Fell thought that the son of Asmodeus was going to break with a little bit of torture…

“Do you take milk?” Ragnor asked calmly.

“Milk?”

“In your tea.” 

Magnus frowned. “Shut up. I’m not drinking anything you give me.” 

“Alright, suit yourself,” Ragnor sighed, “though if you don’t talk to me I’ll have no choice but to turn you over to the shadowhunters. I can’t have a rogue warlock terrorising my city, Magnus. I need you to work with me.”

“So you want my power,” Magnus snorted, rolling his eyes. “Figures.”

“No, I want to know who you are and how I can help you in whatever led you to me in the first place. You could have knocked on my front door, you know, rather than scaring the other warlocks half to death trying to find a decent library.” 

Magnus snarled, shoulders rising to his ears. “They told you I was coming, after I threatened-”

“Oh, of course they did.” Ragnor sat down in front of Magnus, a delicate teacup in his hands. “You may be powerful, darling, impressively so for one so young, but you’re no match for me.” 

“Is that so?” Magnus sneered, “then why don’t you let me go and we’ll see who’s more powerful?!”

Ragnor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Magnus, my dear, do you want my assistance or not?” 

“I want your books.” Magnus answered, looking around them at the looming bookshelves. 

“Who taught you to read English? Hmm?” Ragnor asked, leaning forward. 

Magnus narrowed his eyes. “My father taught me every tongue that the mundanes speak and a few they don’t.” 

“Asmodeus.” Ragnor nodded, “he is your father, is he not?” 

“How did you know…?” 

“Your eyes, Magnus.” Ragnor smiled faintly, shaking his head. “I’d never forget those eyes.”

Magnus’ mouth fell open. “You… You’ve met my father?”

“Once, yes. A century ago.” Ragnor answered, his hands shaking a little as he lifted the teacup to his mouth. “Almost killed me, but here I stand. Or sit. Does he still have a limp?”

“How?” Magnus demanded, “I’ve never seen anyone challenge my father and live, much less injure him.” 

Ragnor tapped the side of his nose. “That is a secret I will take to the grave, I’m afraid.”

“You’re lying. There’s no way a mortal could-”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m immortal then, isn’t it?” Ragnor tilted his head to the side. “You know that we warlocks are immortal, don’t you?” 

Magnus frowned, squeezing his eyes shut in confusion. “Are we?” 

“Christ, he really kept you ignorant, didn’t he?” 

“I am not ignorant, I’m just-”

“Misinformed.” 

Magnus pursed his lips. “Yes. Apparently.” 

Ragnor looked at him steadily for a moment, searching his face. Magnus kept perfectly still, forcing himself to maintain eye contact. He wasn’t the timid child he’d been once upon a time. Just when Magnus was starting to think that he couldn’t take it anymore, Ragnor hummed and nodded, a small smile on his face. “Well, first things first. Let’s get a hot meal in your belly.” He waved his hand and released the ropes from Magnus’ body. 

“I- You trust me not to kill you?” Magnus asked, slowly getting up from the chair. 

“Should I not trust you?” Ragnor mused, turning his back on the younger warlock to get a book from a shelf next to him.

Magnus thought about it for a moment. “Asmodeus is my father. I’m a monster, you should be scared of me.”

“Oh, Magnus,” Ragnor chuckled, putting an ancient book in his hands. “There is absolutely nothing monstrous about you. Your soul is pure. No matter what awful things Asmodeus taught you, what he did, the essence of you remains bright and true. You, young man, are going to be a blessing to this world. I promise you that.” 

“You don’t know what I’ve done…” 

Ragnor put his hands on Magnus’ shoulders. “I don’t need to.”

Magnus swallowed hard, clenching his jaw to will away the moisture in his eyes. For some indeterminable reason, he believed Ragnor. He believed that Ragnor believed that. Perhaps he wasn’t as broken as his father had had him believe. In centuries to come, Magnus would credit Ragnor Fell for raising him. Not that he’d ever admit that; he took great pleasure in tormenting Ragnor’s polite sensibilities for the rest of his days.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Junior! Get back here at once! You cannot simply steal away a political figure!” Ragnor screeched, his face beetroot red, but Magnus and the Princess had skipped away through the portal, holding hands and giggling. 

“Magnus! Come, this way!” She urged, dragging him towards the ocean. The portal had come out by the beach, fifty miles away from the palace, and Toshiko looked jubilant, leaping into Magnus’ arms to kiss him soundly. “I cannot believe you, you’ll be executed!”

Magnus shrugged, cupping her face. “Let ‘em try.” 

Toshiko giggled, and sat down in the sand, tugging him down next to her. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he leaned back on his hands, turning his face to soak up the sun’s rays. “You must be sweltering in all those clothes.”

“I’m fine,” he assured her, glancing over to smile at her only to see her stripping out of her kimono. “Toshiko, you can’t!”

“I am a Princess,” she announced, raising her chin, “I’m going to be Empress one day, and I can do what I like. And that includes taking a magic man from across the sea as my lover.” 

“Toshiko, I’m…” Magnus gulped, hesitating over the words, “I’m not like other men.”

“Well, why do you think I love you?” She asked, clumsily climbing into his lap so she straddled him. “Besides, I’ve never been with a man before. As far as I’m concerned, every man I ever love will be just like you.” 

Magnus couldn’t help but smile, letting their foreheads fall together gently. “Promise me you’ll love me no matter what.”

“Of course I will,” Toshiko laughed, her fingers ghosting over his cheek. “Now kiss me, commoner, before I have your head.” She sniffed in faux-superiority, and Magnus grinned, turning them over to press her into the sand.

If she was surprised when Magnus’ tunic came off, she didn’t show it, tugging him closer with hunger in her eyes. Magnus was breathless with relief, and it made the moment all the sweeter. He couldn’t have asked for a more memorable first experience, fumbling and giggling together as the waves came in around them. 

“So, are you really a woman?” Toshiko asked, lying naked in the sand as the sun set, drawing patterns around his nipples with her fingertips.

Magnus looked at her, pushing salty, sandy hair out of her face. “No,” he answered. 

Toshiko smiled, biting her lip. “That’s… Beautiful.” 

“Beautiful?” 

“Everything about you is magical.” 

Magnus choked on a tearful laugh, and kissed the palm of her hand.

Of course, it all ended in heartbreak the moment they got back to the palace that night. Toshiko had to swear never to see him again in exchange for Magnus’ life, her father standing over Magnus with a ceremonial sword, Ragnor standing off to the side, powerless to intervene. Despite the way it ended with her, Magnus treasured the memory of Princess, later Empress, Toshiko forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With the help of the spells and potions that Ragnor had taught him in the first few years of living with him, Magnus lived his life accepted by just about everyone as the man he was. A few lovers turned sour when he revealed himself fully, but more of them shrugged it off, more worried by his magical outbursts of pleasure than his lack of a penis. By the early 1800s, Magnus had gotten thoroughly sick of Ragnor, and Ragnor Magnus, so they decided that Magnus would have to move out. 

“I’m going to America,” Magnus announced, in the middle of a dinner party, and Ragnor’s mouth fell open.

“When I said we should have some space, Junior, I was referring to perhaps a few hundred miles, not the entire Atlantic Ocean!” Ragnor seethed, and Magnus beamed at him.

“Just think how fond your heart will grow if I’m all the way across the sea?” Magnus teased, raising his glass at him. Catarina snickered into her napkin as Ragnor stared at his protege. 

“You’re serious?” 

“I’m always serious!” Magnus insisted, and that time Catarina really did belly laugh. “Cat’s going to help with that outbreak of cholera, and I thought, well, why not?!” 

Ragnor looked at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed behind his glasses, before tutting. “Well, if you have your heart set on it. I expect you and Catarina to keep a guest room ready for me at all times, though. Heaven knows when you’ll need me to come and clean up a mess.” 

Magnus and Catarina beamed at each other, the two of them already full of ideas and optimism for the big move. 

Of course, New York was just as dreary as London, nothing like the riches and wonders that they’d been promised, but they set up home there just the same.

“You want to know a secret?” Catarina asked, handing Magnus a wet shirt to wring out and hang up on the rack. 

“Of course,” Magnus smirked.

“I think the High Warlock’s a prick.” 

Magnus laughed, nudging her in the ribs. “Everyone does, it’s just that no-one says it out loud.” 

“God, I hate him. How can you be the High Warlock of Brooklyn and not answer fire messages when there’s an emergency?” Catarina grumbled, shaking her head.

“Emergency? What happened?” Magnus shook his hands dry, since the towels had just been washed, and Cat wiped hers on her skirts. 

Cat sighed, and led him out to the drawing room, pouring them both a drink. “There’s this warlock kid that’s hanging out with the pack.”

“How did that happen?” 

“Fuck knows, honestly,” Catarina rubbed her forehead. “I only came across her by accident because I was picking up fish from the market. She hasn’t even been taught to conceal her mark.” 

Magnus hummed, sipping his drink. “What’s her name?” 

“I don’t know, she ran off before I could ask. Poor kid, she must be so confused.”

“We’ve all been there,” Magnus murmured, squeezing her hand. “I’m sure the pack are doing their best.”

Catarina nodded, cradling her glass in her hands as she laid her head on Magnus’ shoulder. “I hope so.”

They bunked together for a few years, before Cat got involved with a vampire and moved into the Hotel DuMort for a while. Magnus didn’t mind, because he had a rather promising thing going on with a soldier called George who was stationed just outside the city. It worked out rather well for the both of them. Before long, though, George got sent to battle, and Magnus was bereft without him. The letters were lovely, but Magnus was needy for attention by nature, and it was torture going ten days between messages. 

One day, rather abruptly, the messages stopped, and a wooden box was brought back to the city draped in a flag. That day, something broke in Magnus that was never quite fixed.

After George, Magnus suffered through what Catarina affectionately referred to as ‘the one hundred years of idiocy’. He threw himself at all the wrong people, got involved in all kinds of ridiculous situations, and was intensely, inescapably miserable. Camille reopened wounds that he thought had healed centuries ago, carefully scratching open scars from Magnus’ time in Edom. It felt like being back there all over again.

He left her eventually, but it took Ragnor coming over for six months and the offer of the position of High Warlock of Brooklyn. 

“You’re different,” Ragnor announced, in the last week of his temporary residence at Magnus’ loft apartment. 

Magnus smiled tightly, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. “I grew up.” 

“Yes, you did.” Ragnor nodded, “and what an awful tragedy that is.” 

“I thought you hated my whims and antics.” 

Ragnor shrugged, holding out his glass for Magnus to pour some whiskey into. “Your antics were always a headache at the time, Junior but…” He smiled a little, shaking his head. “I’ll never forget the look on your face when you leapt through that damned portal with Princess Toshiko. Not a care in the world. Now you look… Tired.”

“I am tired,” Magnus confessed, running his hand down his face. “I’m barely three hundred, and I honestly can’t bear life any longer. I have no idea how you’ve managed to keep yourself engaged in life, how old are you, eight hundred? Where do you find the energy?” 

“There’s a very simple answer to that, Junior.” Ragnor smirked, inclining his glass towards Magnus. “Surrounding myself with those younger in need of aid. Helping those who cannot help themselves is the only way that people like you and I can hope to remain sane in our long lives. Which is why I’ve put your name forward for the position of High Warlock.”

Magnus gaped at him. “Ragnor, look at me. I can barely look after myself, how in Heaven’s name am I supposed to care for all the warlocks in this city?”

“You need purpose, Magnus. For too long your purpose has been pleasing whatever narcissistic lover that happened to be warming your bed. You’re worth more than that and you know it.” 

“Do I?” Magnus huffed out a laugh, looking down into his glass. 

Ragnor sighed. “What do you have to lose, hmm?” 

Magnus closed his eyes, and turned his face away. Ragnor was right. He had absolutely nothing to lose, at this point.

A few weeks later he found Raphael cowering in a dark alleyway, covered in blood and trembling, and he terrified Magnus. The similarities between the teenage vampire and his memories of his time with Asmodeus were staggering, and before Magnus could think twice he’d scooped Raphael up in a portal and brought him home.

Raphael was exactly the same as Magnus had been at his age, and yet completely different, too. Where Magnus had wanted nothing more than to find a place to belong, Raphael yearned to go back to the family he’d left behind. Both ached for acceptance, both hid their fragile hearts behind snipes and sarcasm, and both privately thought that the other had saved his life.

One day in the 1940s, Catarina showed up at his door with champagne. She’d been working as a nurse for a few years, and had heard whispers of a surgery performed in Europe to remove the breasts of a man just like Magnus. After portalling over to see the results herself, she’d met the patient, and just had to tell Magnus all about it.

“So you’re saying… I wouldn’t have to glamour myself. A surgeon could just cut them off?” Magnus asked, sitting on the edge of his seat, eyes bright with optimism. 

“Sounds risky to me,” Raphael commented, leaning against the doorway. “You’d have to have a warlock there, or you could blow up the hospital on accident.” 

“I’ve never heard of a warlock having mundane surgery,” Catarina admitted, “but my point is, it’s possible. Medically.”

Magnus pressed his lips together, shaking his head slowly. “I knew that there were people like me out there. I’ve known for many years, but this is… I never thought anyone actually cared about us.” 

“Times are changing, Magnus,” Catarina smiled, leaning forward to squeeze his hands. “Apparently they’re planning to do a phalloplasty on that same man in a few months, once he’s healed up.”

“A phalloplasty? That means… Penis?” Raphael asked, arching an eyebrow. “Mundanes can do that?” 

“They think so,” Catarina nodded, not taking her eyes off Magnus’ face. He looked overwhelmed, and Cat hugged him. “You’ve got all the time in the world to think about it, Mags. We’ll be here for you whatever you decide. The point is, people see you. People are starting, ever so slowly, to recognise people across the world just like you.” 

Magnus buried his face in Catarina’s neck, and sighed. “I’m going to wait a few years,” he murmured, “wait for the mundanes to get it completely right.”

“We’ll be here for you when it happens,” Raphael insisted, making both Catarina and Magnus look up at him in surprise. “What?” He huffed, squirming uncomfortably. “I care.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Raphael stayed with Magnus for ten years, and when he left to run the new and improved Hotel DuMort, he left a hole that Magnus filled with a new investment. In the middle of Brooklyn, not too far from his loft, he opened a nightclub called Pandemonium. He’d been High Warlock for a decade now, and in that time had quietly gained power in the New York downworld, and with it the genuine confidence that he’d been lacking for over a century. He filled his days helping warlocks with disagreements and demon summonings gone wrong, and his nights networking and partying with downworlders and rich mundanes. 

 

By the 1950s, Magnus was thoroughly sick of his lovers calling him ‘she’ the moment they saw him naked, so he called up Catarina and asked her to put him in touch with the plastic surgeons in England who were performing surgeries on what had come to be known as ‘transsexuals’. Magnus didn’t much like the term, but at least he had a word to describe himself now, for the first time in his long life. He took a sabbatical from his position as High Warlock, leaving his sometimes lover Dorothea Rollins in charge for two years while he stayed in London with Ragnor, undergoing several surgeries, each one worse than the last. He wondered how mundanes survived the pain alone; he’d have expired without his and Ragnor’s magic to keep him stable, he was sure of it.

Still, when he stood naked in the mirror a year after his last surgery, he knew in his heart of hearts that it had all been worth it. He finally looked as he felt. If he wept that day, it didn’t make him less of a man. 

His return to the position of High Warlock was heralded by a huge party in Pandemonium, and Magnus was glad to be back in the city that had become his home. He kept himself busy, throwing himself back into work and into every beautiful person that crossed his path. He found a balance between work and play that made him happy, and though he still ached for a real connection, a tangible bond, he was content. His duties as High Warlock left him fulfilled and with a purpose, and aside from a few of his father’s more powerful minions dropping by to say hello, it was mostly plain sailing for a few decades.

It couldn’t last, of course. Because one day, the shadowhunters came to his door. 

“I don’t perform spells on children unless it’s for their health.” Magnus stated, “and I don’t work with shadowhunters either.” 

Jocelyn Fairchild looked too young to have a little girl. She barely looked twenty herself. Perhaps it was the sheer pleading in her face, making her seem like a child. Either way, Magnus turned his face from her. “It is for her health! Her mental health! I have to protect her from Valentine. Please, Mr Bane. Please.” 

“I’m okay, Mommy,” the girl insisted, tugging on Jocelyn’s skirt. “Don’t worry about me!” 

“Hey, little one. Do you think you could go and find my kitty cat? He was sitting in the library last time I saw him…” He murmured, bending to the child’s height. Her eyes lit up and she ran off to the other room, and Magnus turned back to Jocelyn, rubbing his forehead. “The ethical issues in taking away a child’s memories…”

“It’s for her own good. She’s too powerful, she’s attracting demons. We won’t survive for long without these memory wipes. I’ll do anything, Mr Bane, please. I’ve already lost one child, I can’t-”

“You lost a child?” Magnus asked before he could stop himself.

Jocelyn met his eyes, nodding. “I can’t lose Clary as well. I just ca-” Her voice broke, and Magnus tutted, putting his hand on her shoulder.

“Alright,” he said gently. “Alright. Against my better judgement, I’ll help you.”

He’d known it was a bad decision even as he said it, but, looking back, Magnus couldn’t bring himself to regret it, because, in a roundabout way, Jocelyn Fairchild was the catalyst for Alexander Lightwood falling into his life. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“If you don’t like the drink, I can make you something else. Or I could conjure some…” Magnus’ eyes drifted down Alec’s body and back up again, taking note of the dark, boring clothes. “Light beer?” 

“No, it’s fine, honestly.” Alec insisted, though his nose screwed up as he took another sip. Magnus watched him for a moment, a thick, pleasant fondness in his lungs, before looking out over the New York skyline. “Have you always lived in New York?” Alec asked nervously, stepping up next to Magnus to lean against the balcony wall. 

Magnus chuckled. “No, I was alive long before New York was even conceived of. I moved here about two hundred years ago. Well, not here specifically. My friend Catarina and I lived in Queens.” 

“Bet it was a lot different back then, huh?” 

“You could say that, yes.” Magnus smiled, looking over at Alec only to see him staring back. Alec cleared his throat and averted his eyes, making Magnus’ smile grow. “See something you like?” He teased gently.

“I see something.” Alec answered, and Magnus was sure that he didn’t mean to bat his eyelashes like that, but he did, and it made Magnus’ gut clench. “It was impressive, holding out that long healing the alpha.” 

“Luke,” Magnus supplied pointedly, and Alec nodded. “Well, it wasn’t easy, and I did have some help. I’m not the High Warlock for nothing, you know.” 

Alec hummed, biting his lip. He looked like there was something he wanted to say, and Magnus tilted his head to the side in question. 

“What is it?” 

“I, uh…” Alec put his martini glass down on the wall in front of him. “I’m just wondering… How did you know I was…” He swallowed hard, his eyes darting over his shoulder and back to Magnus, “how’d you know I was gay?” 

The way he whispered it told Magnus that it wasn’t something that Alec had shared with many people, and he was touched that Alec trusted him enough to say it out loud. He’d never had to come out, really; in his warlock circles it was stranger to be straight than it was to be bisexual. But he’d known enough tortured mundane men in his life to know that coming to terms with that part of yourself wasn’t easy. Hell, Magnus had barely been able to say the word transgender until twenty years ago. 

“I didn’t know, exactly. I hoped.” Magnus admitted, looking up at Alec through his eyelashes. “And then when you lit up like I’d made your year, well…”

“Right,” Alec chuckled breathlessly. “Are you…?”

“Actually, I’m bisexual. And, uh…” Magnus toyed with his ear cuff. “Actually, I’m transgender as well.” 

Alec’s eyes widened a fraction, darting down for a nanosecond before fixing back on Magnus’ eyes. “Really? I had no idea, I, uh…”

Magnus gulped. “Is that a problem?”

“No!” Alec insisted, shifting closer to him with earnest eyes. “God, of course not!” His elbow knocked the martini glass off the wall, and both of them watched as it plummeted to the ground. Magnus caught it with his magic before it landed, and conjured it back in Alec’s hand. 

There was a beat of silence, and Alec turned to put the glass on the table behind them. 

“It doesn’t bother me,” Alec emphasised, shaking his head. “I never thought I’d get as far as this, I never thought I’d even get to share a drink with another man, I never even considered…” He trailed off, shrugging with a sigh. “I can’t go there, with anybody. And even if I could… No, Magnus, it wouldn’t bother me.” 

Magnus bit his lip. “Well, that’s good news. That it doesn’t make a difference, I mean.”

“I might be a shadowhunter but I’m not totally heartless.” Alec’s mouth quirked into a shy smile. “You’re… Well, I don’t need to tell you. I’m not about to tell you I’m not interested just because of something like that. It’s irrelevant.” 

“Oh, I think you do need to tell me, Alexander.” Magnus purred, and Alec grinned, his eyes on his feet. 

“In another life, maybe.” He allowed, and Magnus hummed. He’d take that. For now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Magnus?” Alec asked into the dark, six months later. They’d been trading lazy kisses for a little while, coming down from the most wonderful high.

“Mmmm?”

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

Magnus pulled back, turning over so he was no longer hovering over Alec’s body. “Of course, ask away.” 

Alec reached over to turn on the light, and sat up. “Does the mundane government know you exist?” 

“Uhhh… I pay taxes, so I guess so. Why?” Magnus asked.

“And your gender marker’s correct, right?” Alec checked, one eye screwed up, and Magnus nodded. “Oh, good.” 

Magnus chuckled. “Why? What’s going on?” 

Alec licked his lips, shifting closer to scritch his fingers through Magnus’ hair. “I was doing some research, and the Clave still enforces the law where shadowhunters aren’t allowed to marry downworlders or mundanes. At least, the Clave won’t recognise the marriage. But shadowhunters can get married as mundanes. So… I was just wondering if the mundanes know you exist.”

“Alec,” Magnus sat up slowly, one eyebrow arched. “Is this your way of proposing?”

“No!” Alec insisted, holding up his hands. “No, of course not. That will be about ten times more romantic than this,” he promised, making Magnus roll his eyes playfully. “I just wanted to… Check.” 

“So what you’re saying is you were thinking about marrying me while I was fucking the living daylights out of you?” Magnus beamed, nose scrunching and all.

Alec smirked, tackling Magnus to the bed and climbing on top of him. “You are very good.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The thing that surprised Magnus the most about Alec was the fact that he never asked. He’d had accepting partners before, hundreds of them, but the ones that weren’t trans tended to tentatively ask a series of questions a few weeks into their relationship. Magnus knew these questions so well by now that he could finish their sentences.

Did you always know you were a man?

How did you know?

When did you have the surgery?

Do you miss having a vagina?

Why don’t you magic away your chest scars?

Alec never asked.

It took three more years, and matching gold rings on their fourth fingers, for Magnus to give in and ask Alec why.

“Why would I ask any of those questions?” Alec frowned, stilling with his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

Magnus shrugged, towelling his hair dry in the mirror. “Everyone does, eventually.” 

Alec looked at him for a long moment, his eyebrows creased in the middle. “Do you want to talk to me about any of it? Because you know you can, right?” 

“I-” Magnus shook his head. “Aren’t you curious?” 

“I’m curious about a lot of things,” Alec admitted, resuming brushing his teeth. He paused to spit the excess toothpaste out into the sink and rinse his mouth, “doesn’t mean it’s any of my business. Besides, you’ve had such a long life. There’s no way I’m ever going to know every detail of it. I figured those details aren’t more important than, I don’t know, your first kiss. The pets you owned. They’re a part of you, but some things don’t need to be shared. Especially if you don’t want to remember those parts.”

Magnus looped his towel around Alec’s shoulders, pulling him close. “You’re the love of my life.” 

Alec smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Damn straight I am.” He twined their fingers, their weddings bands clinking as they brushed together.

It had been a long journey for Magnus Bane, since that day that Asmodeus picked him up all those centuries ago. But every painful step of it had led him to Alexander Lightwood, and the position of High Warlock of Brooklyn. And there was nothing he’d change about that.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had to disable anonymous comments because I was getting hate mail, so I apologise for that! Please let me know (constructively) what you think! If there's anything that feels strange don't hesitate to let me know!


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